


The World is His

by Queer_Queen



Series: Queen Queen's Not-so-Queer Movie Villain Bodice Rippers [2]
Category: James Bond (Craig movies), James Bond - All Media Types
Genre: Bodice-Ripper, F/M, Psychic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-21
Updated: 2020-04-20
Packaged: 2021-02-26 15:34:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,411
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23240773
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Queer_Queen/pseuds/Queer_Queen
Summary: Olivia's powers allow her to do many things; predict the winning lottery numbers, guess the weather with complete accuracy, teach herself skills in half the time, and stumble upon the plots of an international criminal organization?Soon she makes her way into the world of MI6 in her attempt to get away from her nightmares ... but can she truly escape her own predictions?
Relationships: Franz Oberhauser/OFC
Series: Queen Queen's Not-so-Queer Movie Villain Bodice Rippers [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1670962
Comments: 1
Kudos: 3





	1. Chapter 1

_ It was morning. The sun filtered through the high quality gauzy curtains, and Olivia lay in bed, desperate for the day to already be over. In years previous an alarm would wake her, and she would prepare for the day ahead, either rushing or slightly more languid, getting dressed, eating food, and then going to her job. Her days were similar here, but so much more refined. She hated it. _

_ Instead of waking to an alarm she woke to the sun as it was gently filtered into her room through a combination of smart glass and interior-designer approved curtains.  _

_ Instead of looking out her window and seeing her university campus, some drab suburb of london, or even her childhood backyard, she saw a mountain range blocking off her immediate view, a sleek chrome facility presented before her, with multiple false oasis in between. Sometimes she would watch the workers moving to and fro from her place in bed, in days where she had to be dragged from her room. _

_ She slid from her too expensive, too fine sheets, and moved to the luxurious en-suite. At least this felt familiar, even if all of the non-basic elements were handled by staff - she had a manicurist, who came to her every two weeks, same with the hairstylist and the masseuse. Olivia-of-before would have only ever seen these things as luxuries, not necessities. Well, Olivia reflected, she  _ didn’t _ see them as anything but proof of ownership. _

_ From the bathroom she drifted to a single hook in her room. This too had changed, before she could choose from any number of normal or strange items of clothing, spending however much time she wanted to get dressed. Now she would wake up with her outfit for the day placed in her room for her to change into, always fine beautiful things that fit her perfectly. Always placed in her room while she slept.  _

_ She pulled on the underwear and the elegant dress, ignoring the jewelry - her little rebellion of the day - and pulled on the heels. Olivia folded up her sleeping clothes and left them in a neat pile on her bed, when she returned to her room she would get new ones. Always an identical set of soft as sin pajamas. She genuinely didn’t know how many sets were kept in reserve for her, and the opulence of that thought disgusted her. _

_ Her heels clicked as she walked towards the door to her room, which opened as she approached, proof that they watched her every move. Outside the door was one of her guards, who smiled at her before directing her down the hall. She ached to speak to say something like ‘Yeah, I know the drill.’ But kept quiet. Speech felt more and more like a waste of energy. _

_ Heels clicking as she walked down the glossy white hallways, Olivia smiled as she thought to herself, another change from her beautiful past; she wasn’t allowed to eat until she had finished her report for the night. _

_ Another guard stood at the end of the hallway and directed her into the room, the only contents of which was a table, and two chairs, one of which was occupied by her interrogator. The chair was delicately pulled out for her, as if she was some grand lady at a fancy hotel, and she sat.  _

_ Her interrogator is so average, so blank, all he ever does is stare as she speaks. It’s disconcerting. “You may begin.” _

_ She closes her eyes, searching her memory, “July 8th 2022 assassination of Julian Bisset, successful. September 22nd 2026 incursion of Latvia, successful. January 1st 2020 death of ally Oscar Putina, natural causes. February 15th 2027 jailbreak of serbian nationalist, Vlado Nikolić unsuccessful. February 25th 2020 -” And so she continued, listing deaths, assassinations, military uprisings, and natural disasters. She stuttered to a stop when her voice became hoarse, she was not offered water. _

_ “Do you have any others?” _

_ She shakes her head, even as she thinks of a British agent’s single minded incursion into this very facility. _

_ “Very well,” and then the interrogator begins reading to her, telling her of various moves by opposing parties, natural disasters, and government movements.  _

_ When he is done her interrogator nods to her guards, who once again help her out of her chair and out the door, gently directing her to breakfast.  _

_ Breakfast is being held outside for once, she is directed to sit, and stares distantly at the false fish pond, waiting for her host. She wishes - _

_ The vision stutters, and as Olivia shifts into wakefulness she can feel a hand on her throat, and hear smiling, but unfriendly words,  _

_ “I hope I catch you soon, little bird.” _

And she wakes.

Olivia is in her apartment, she is in London, and she will  _ never _ be caught.

\--- 

Getting off work was a blessing, all Olivia wanted to do was go home and sleep. Mindless IT work was truly taxing, even if the pay was decent and she’d be getting a promotion in 2 and a half months.

Moving through the bustle of the after work crowd she allowed her mind to phased out of thought, moving automatically through the streets and into the tube.

A rowdy group of school kids rushed ahead of her and the rest of the afterwork crowd, breaking her concentration and slowing down the crowd’s pace. Breathing through her nose she thought of calming things; sleep was definitely in her future. One of the boys glanced up in apology for his friends and gave the commuters a tight smile … their eyes met and then ...

And then …

_ A flash of a stilled face, the boy, bleeding as he lay still on the ground. His white uniform shirt was steadily dying red from the wound in his chest. She stood in this vision, staring down at the teenager. She looked around and saw the rest of the area around the turnstiles; empty except for the dead. She ignored the body of a woman wearing her favourite blue coat. _

_ Slowly sound filtered in, and all she could hear were the choked gasps of an older woman lying beside her granddaughter. Neither would survive. _

_ Breathing deeply Olivia pushed the vision and slowly time began skipping backwards, showing the events backwards, men in dark armour followed after the remains of the evening commute crowd, all armed and all firing, skip further, gunshots from both sides scared the retreating crowd causing them to panic and fall into each other trying to escape, even further, closer to the present, gunshots could be heard from within the station, the group surges up the stairs only to be met by more death. _

_ Stop. _

_ A normal day.  _

Olivia opened her eyes and breathed out, she stepped to the side of the turnstiles, allowing others to pass her.

What was happening. Why?

Visions didn’t hit her less than a day in advance, and now she had barely 20 minutes to make up a plan. She could go. She  _ should _ go. This was exactly the kind of event she spent her entire life avoiding; she refused to be drawn from the shadows … 

Her eyes caught on the school uniform of the  _ boy _ she had seen dead. Until today her visions had been nameless, faceless. Avoid this weather, don’t fly on this plane, don’t talk to that woman. Endless notes on how her future would go badly. Only her life ever in question … and now?

At least twelve people would die, probably more considering the shooting started elsewhere.

Minutes had passed. She needed to act. She needed a safe route. And a weapon.

Almost unwillingly her eyes flicked towards the entrance; a man in a dark coat approached, moving towards the turnstiles. One of the militia then. Well. She found her weapon. 

Taking out her oyster card she carefully followed after him. 

_ He stops to check his phone, she slows as she passes him and he quickly strikes, grabbing her and pressing the gun to her throat. _

Okay cool, so she wasn’t being subtle at all. She faked a coughing fit, slowing down and leaning against the wall, scrambling in her purse for a handkerchief.

_ He continues on, and is met by another one of his compatriots, they quickly dispatch the guards of the informant and shoot him at point blank range. _

Great. Fine.

She nicks some pepper spray and get him in the face.

_ Stabbed in the lung. _

Yells his name and his mission.

_ Shot in the gut and then in the heart. _

Grabs the gun off his friend.

_ Pushed into an oncoming train _ .

Steals the gun from one of the train guards and kills them both.

_ She succeeds but is arrested.  _

“Fucking unbelievable.” She glances at the time, and decides that she’ll have to work with that. Quickly she discards her blue coat behind a bin, leaving her in her black turtleneck and dress pants - hopefully enough to deter guards if not security cameras.

It’s unsurprisingly easy to steal from someone when you can predict their every action and reaction. The guard doesn’t even notice the gun is gone until she has blended back in with the crowd. Their yells are ignored as she keeps her eyes on her targets. 

They are approaching the guards and - 

Her gun shots are loud, and the crowd scrambles, and she allows herself to be pulled into it, briefly making eye contact with the school boy, he stares at her in fear, but she is quick to move away from his gaze. On the way out she grabs her blue coat. She’ll have to burn it after this. The gun is left in her deep coat pockets and she hastily tries to make a plan. They are heading towards the main entrance - which will bring them to the next set of assailants.

She looks around the crowd and 

Scared father of two

_ \- will ignore her - _

Businesswoman

_ \- tries to get the others attention but is too late - _

A tennis umpire

_ \- redirects crowd - _

She almost raises an eyebrow. But the instinct has long been suppressed.

She begins to slow down, attempting to argue with the crowd, “Listen please, I heard them talking - we can’t go this way!” she is ignored - except for the umpire.

The man turns to her, “What do you mean?”

Tearfully she explains “I heard them talking earlier, those men with the guns, they are going to be waiting at the main entrance!”

His booming voice quickly takes over the situation, and the majority of the crowd is successfully slowed down.

And then gunshots. 

Fired into the crowd.

Gasping Olivia feels blooming pain in her shoulder and stumbles as she collapses. She closes her eyes, blinking up at the harsh lights, and a shadow falls over her vision.

Above her is a man in tactical gear, speaking into a headset.

Her ears are ringing and her mind  _ s l i p s _

_ She is in the room again. Staring out at the false oasis in the middle of the desert. _

_ She doesn’t glance up as the door opens, only turning her head when it is turned. _

_ She stares into the eyes of the devil and wondered what sin she commited to end up here.  _

_ She just wanted to save the boy. _

\---

The alarm clock goes off.

Olivia slowly opens her eyes and stares up at her ceiling. At 5:43pm that evening the train station by her work would be attacked, as a way of disguising the assassination of a high level informant belonging to MI6. Twenty three people would die. And if she did anything she would die or be disappeared to the mysterious hell she had been dreaming of for the past twelve years.

What the fuck was she supposed to do?


	2. Chapter 2

Olivia didn’t know what to do. She had no access to resources. She had no training. All she had was blind luck combined with a mildly successful streak of intuition. 

Fuck. What the hell was she supposed to do?

She began pacing around her tiny apartment. 

‘Play to your strengths’ said Barty Crouch Junior to Harry Potter … What the hell were her strengths?

The future. A bit of coding. A complete lack of creativity.

It was 8am. She had just over nine hours to make and implement a plan. A plan that didn’t get her killed, trapped or convicted of terrorism. One that accounted for her lack of resources, skill, personnel, and, most importantly, time.

Then she pulls out some paper and a pen and begins to write.

\---

The time frames were the first things she wrote down, then rough sketches of the killers, and then the victims. The entire hour is laid out on the floor of her apartment, and endless ideas have been brought up and discarded. Killing the assassins makes their backup team come faster. Evacuating the civilians causes the backup team to start attacking sooner. Warning the man in witness protection gets her arrested. Warning the government gets her arrested. Warning the trains station guards get her arrested. And she would be fine with arrest if it didn’t always end up with someone on the inside faking her death and taking her to false oasis man.

Fuck.

She exhaled slowly, ignoring her ringing phone - her boss, he was probably going to fire her after this - trying to make a plan, when it felt like she held questions and answers, but no idea if they even matched. 

It was eleven am. She had six hours.

A flash.

_ A knock on her door, or what will be her front door. She doesn’t recognize the space but she does recognize the contents. She has changed apartments. A flicker and she has opened her apartment door, letting in … Her neighbour of 4 months. As in the one living at her  _ current _ apartment complex.  _

_ She closes the door after him and he smiles at her. _

The vision ends.

But she understands what it means. The universe wants to help her.

Thank god. Otherwise she’d be fucked.

Numbly she stands and moves out of her apartment, thumping on her neighbour’s door. Uncaring of the state she was clearly in; Hair mussed, still wearing pajamas, morning breath, pen and biro mark all over her hands. 

She waits before she begins truly pounding on the door, and from inside “I’m coming! I’m coming!”

_ She gets a flash of him closing a laptop with security feed from the hallway on it,  _ but brushes the thought aside. She had bigger fish to fry.

He opens the door a sliver, the deadbolt engaged, “What on earth is it?” The man behind the door is young, someone who she had pegged as similar to herself - recently graduated uni, bottom of the career ladder, but willing and ready to build a life. Now that she had a better assessment of him - multiple hidden locks, hidden security cameras in the hallway, future trusted confidant - she knew that she was wrong, or rather more right than she knew, he was like her, a young professional with hidden secrets.

“I need your help to save twenty three innocent lives.”

“Excuse me?” He sounded completely shocked.

“Let me in. Let me explain.”

His eyes hardened, “If you don’t leave I’m calling the police.”

She fell down to her knees, “Please, Henry, I’m begging you.”

He stared at her for an inscrutable moment, before he closed the door. She closed her eyes and put her hand to her face, her mind filled with images of the school boy; dead, scared, alive. Dead scared alive. Dead. Scared. Alive. 

The door unbolted. She looked up. Her neighbour had a gun pointed at her.

“Tell me how you know that name.”

“I’ll tell you if you help me save those people.”

His face twitched before he nodded, “Fine. Now tell me everything.”

\---

Henry, who preferred to be known as Alan, refused to believe that she had an unnamed source - which honestly Olivia thought was fair. But he had also somehow became her unnamed source.

“I’ve found your gunmen, they came into the country on fake tourists visas last week, likely spent the time doing recon on their target.” His fingers flew across the keyboard, and Olivia glanced at her screen, stopping at the sight of the men who had at once killed, kidnapped, and never even seen her face.

“That’s them. And the MI6 informant?”

Alan rolled his eyes, “Also found. His location was much easier to access than a supposedly confidential secret should be.”

Olivia glanced at the clock, it was 1pm. “So what’s the plan now?”

“Simple, we remove the ignition. The MI6 informant will not leave the safehouse due to a technical error, and the shooting will be prevented.” Alan spoke with calm clear confidence, before he turned and set his steely eyes on her, “Now. Tell me -” but the rest of the sentence was blurred out, as Olivia’s mind was grasped and pulled under the waves of another vision. 

_ Olivia sat in her apartment, phone in her hand after her boss thoroughly shouted at her for missing work. Luckily enough she hadn’t been fired. _

_ She stared at the screen of her television, the bold words reeling under the image of destruction at an office building in the central business district.  _ Assault on Trall Tower: twelve dead and seven injured _ . Read the heading. On the television a news reporter spoke, and images flashed of mild mannered office workers. All dead.  _

_ Was twelve a good substitute for twenty three? _

_ What the fuck was she doing? _

_ Olivia? _

“Olivia?”

There were hands on her shoulders, Alan was staring into her eyes, his expression vaguely concerned. She gasped when she realized where she was and scrambled backwards, Alan willingly letting go, “Don’t … don’t.” She heaved in breaths as her brain shifted from vision to present.

“It’s okay. You’re in my apartment, at Oakvale. It’s 2pm. You had an … episode.” His voice was calm, but austere. He wasn’t pretending to care. How kind.

“People … people still die.” He pauses at that, his gaze intent on the side of her face, Olivia did not deign to make eye contact with him. “They change their plans. They attack an office building instead. Twelve people die.” She watches, somewhat confused as Alan reached out a hand, brushing against her cheek. It came away shiny.

Shakily she raised a hand to her own face and found that she was crying, brushing her face with the sleeve of her shirt she continued, “We only saved ten people.”

And then. She froze.

Her eyes darted up to Alan, as he slowly stood over her. “Tell me the truth Olivia … how did you know my name.”

She had never told anyone before … it has always been something she kept closer to her chest than her own heart. Always a secret hidden behind every conversation, every interaction, every step of her life. And with one sentence, it all came tumbling out.

…

Together they sat on Alan’s couch, silent.

Olivia felt clearer than she had felt in years … she had never divulged so much of herself to anyone, and Alan … well he was taking it as well as could be expected.

“Fucking hell.”

She was silent for a moment, before responding, “It’s crazy isn’t it?”

He looked to her, eyes shaded with doubt, but she already  _ knew _ that he would come to believe her.

She paused, her breath hiccuping out of her, “I … knew all the answers to my exams. Always knew every schoolyard piece of gossip. I learnt how to code from watching myself do it. Months before the accident, I knew my parents would die.”

He looks away at that. “Why did you trust me?”

“Because I think this was a turning point; either I reacted and met you, or …”

He nodded, taking the information in. “Well then, I’ll make us some tea. You’re staying here until we figure out our next steps.”

As Alan puttered over to his little kitchenette, Olivia turned on the television. A common sense of deja vu overcame her; and she knew that for a long time this would be her normal.

Mentally she noted that she was low on funds, which meant it was lotto ticket time.

—-

An aside: 

“Surely there is some proof of fraud?”

“I am being honest here Harold, this woman has legitimately won the lottery.”

“Again.”

“Again. At least it is a smaller amount.”

“Never you mind. Find out how she does it and stop her.”

“Yes sir.”


End file.
